4.
She said a vile gang was roaming the land, robbing, raping, murdering. Twenty-two rapes and sixteen murders in eight months; hijacking cars at night, pulling passengers out, raping the women, slitting the throats of the men, taking all their jewelry and cash. At first the news had been kept quiet, but with each new case the details were spreading, and now the rich people like you, who lived in their fancy villas, were getting nervous, so the cops were desperate to crack the case. What made it more terrifying was the gang’s appearance. They traveled in bands, barefoot, naked except for undershirt and underpants, their skin smeared in engine grease, these vile, stinking men, blackened, slippery as fish, their eye whites glowing in the dark. The newspapers called them the Chaddi Baniyan gang. Ah, yes, I can see you’ve heard of them. They were much feared. Some said they were a legendary criminal tribe, in their hundreds or thousands, living among us by day, striking at night. Others said they were supernatural beings, demons out to cause chaos. “Find a way to infiltrate this gang,” SP Sarkar said. “And once you’re in, feed me their information so I can bring them to justice fast.” I was taken aback. “But madam-sir,” I asked, “how will I join this gang?” She gave me a cool gaze and said, “A man like you will find a way.” I was confused, Sunny Wadia. A man like me? What did she know? Had she picked up the wrong person by mistake? I wanted to protest. I was certain I could not find a way, but then I didn’t want to displease her, I didn’t want her to discard me in the street, so I summoned all my strength and nodded and said yes, I would find a way. “Good,” she smiled, “I knew you would.” And I felt powerful again, I felt the blood surge through me as she looked on me with that disdain and contempt. She said they would pay me a stipend once a month to aid my work. Then she nodded to her ASP, stood up, and left the room. Her ASP hooded me again, took me into the vehicle, and threw me out in the middle of nowhere with a wad of cash and a phone number to call when I had something to report. How giddy did I feel? I walked back to the farm and sneered at my uncle and laughed and got my things, and without a backward glance to any of them I rode off to Kasna, where I took a cheap room and fell in with the card players and the drinkers and the thieves.
5.
So there I was Sunny Wadia, mixing with those nefarious criminal types in the service of Madam-Sir, seeing what information on this gang I could find. The only problem was, no one spoke of the gang, not a word, no one cared one bit, and when I brought them up, everyone just laughed and shrugged and said it was old news, this gang, if it even existed, was far away, in Haryana or Rajasthan by now, and wouldn’t return for a year or more. A year? Yes, a year. They roamed with the seasons, like herders, like the cattle themselves, grazing on the land. For me this was a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, so long as there were no more attacks, Madam-Sir could not accuse me of failing in my job, but on the other, I could not please her, I had nothing to say. Six weeks went by like this, drinking and gambling, indulging in petty crime. I grew disheartened. My lust and ardor fell, I slipped into a dark place. It all felt pointless. I could not rouse myself to do anything. Dreams of murder and escape began to gather around my head like dark clouds. I despised all those I consorted with. I was ashamed to call Madam-Sir, but on the other hand, I yearned to see her strict face, to hear her berate me, to order me to do more or face the consequences. So I called the number. It was the ASP who answered the phone. I told him I had nothing to report. “Madam-Sir is very disappointed in you,” he replied. “If you cannot be of use to us, we’ll send you straight to jail.” I tried to protest, I demanded to see Madam-Sir myself. He was offended by that. “Have more respect, Sunil Rastogi. If you’re not careful, we’ll pin the whole gang on you instead.” He said this as a terrible threat, but it was a moment of great excitement for me, because in that instant, I had solved the case.
6.
From that point on, during every drunken night with my new friends, I began to push the idea: one fine moonless night, wouldn’t it be smart to imitate those devils ourselves, strike the unsuspecting public as the Chaddi Baniyan gang? They roared with laughter. “Sunil Rastogi, you’re a crazy sort!” But I kept sowing the seeds in their liquor-addled brains, explaining over and over how we could use the fear and terror of this notorious gang for our own purposes. Since this gang was long gone, we, the petty criminals, thieves, gamblers, addicts, sometime rapists, occasional murderers, could take ownership of this gang. Sunny Wadia, it was a masterstroke! Don’t you think so? A perfect way to get out of this hole. I worked on them and worked on them, I wouldn’t let the idea rest. I told them how the rich people in their cars driving late at night would be so scared at the sight of this gang they would give everything up without a squeak. We didn’t even need to hurt anyone. I continued to work on these men. When they were at their most drunken I would fill their heads with lust and greed and wounded pride. All those rich people, laughing at us, having what we cannot have. What harm would it be to teach them a lesson? Slowly, slowly, the idea took root, until one fine day they were talking about it as if it had been their idea from the start.